And that he would die if it continued.
* * *
Joanna was slipping away. She was leaving him.
Zou Tun tried to tighten his arms, to keep her with him, but his mind was too fogged by sleep, his limbs too heavy to move. So he struggled to wake, to force his limbs to obey. By the time they complied, it was already too late.
She was out of bed.
He opened his eyes, seeing only darkness, hearing the muffled sounds of a city settling in to rest. It was night, which meant that they had slept through the late afternoon and evening.
As he was still orienting his thoughts, a sudden flare of light cut through the room: a candle lit by Joanna, so she could find her way behind the privacy screen.
He released his held breath. She wasn't leaving him; she was using the chamber pot.
He let his eyes drift closed again, listening to the sounds of life in Shanghai. Even in this wealthy, secluded area, he could still hear the people—laughter or bellows, revelry or pain. He could hear horses clopping down the street, the creak of wheels or the slaps of feet. Even if the sounds weren't truly there, he heard them in his mind.
He hated it. Peking was worse, of course. Noise and busyness, power and treachery—all made their own sounds, filled the air with clutter.
And nowhere could he find the whisper of the wind or the gentle rhythms of a peaceful forest at night. No animals burrowed nearby and no water flowed crystal-clear within a half hour's walk. All around him for miles was noise. Human noise. And he wanted it to end.
He looked at Joanna, outlined by the candle against the privacy screen. She was a beautiful sight, his Joanna. She remained naked, so he could see her entire long and muscular body in silhouette against the screen. Her breasts were high and well formed, her hips sweetly rounded, and her legs the kind that could wrap around a man and hold on for life.
His dragon stirred, his body ready for the most primal of needs. But that was the only part of him that moved. The rest of him remained still, his mind focusing on the beauty of this healthy woman, not the lust that wanted to dominate his thoughts.
Why had she not returned to bed?
He could tell from her movements that she had completed her business. So what was she doing?
As he watched, she held out the two connected stone balls. She tested them, feeling their weight. He knew what she was supposed to do. The Tigress had instructed her to hold the smallest one inside her for a thousand heartbeats. When she could do that, she would be ready to experience the yin flow.
Did she plan on trying it now?
She did. As he watched she widened her legs, then awkwardly curled into herself as she brought the smallest ball up toward her cinnabar cave. The larger one dangled through her fingers, swaying with her movements.
Zou Tun lifted his head off the pillow, wanting to see more. But his movement made the bed creak and Joanna froze.
"Zou Tun?" she called. Her voice was a low whisper.
He said nothing, pretending to be asleep so that she would not feel awkward. It was not something with which a virgin would feel comfortable. Certainly not the first time.
He heard her sigh; then she returned her attention to her task. And as he watched, she proceeded.
He saw her shift uncomfortably, and the ball immediately slipped out.
She sighed again, and the sound was enough to make his dragon rear with interest. But Zou Tun remained still, his breath suspended.
She tried again. This time she seemed to understand better what to do. She straightened, her legs slightly spread, her cave and belly muscles no doubt tensed to near breaking. Indeed, as he feared, he saw her shudder. It was a large movement that shook her entire body, most especially her shoulders. Which naturally set her breasts to bouncing—and his dragon to dancing. He had to clench his belly to prevent his lust.
Except he wasn't supposed to stop his lust, was he? That was part of the Tigress's teaching. He needed that lust. He needed the power of his desire to mix with Joanna's yin. So he stopped his struggle against the inevitable.
His dragon was awake. Fighting it served no purpose. He accepted the sensations as it straightened and hardened, poking its head out from its sheath. It wanted to see Joanna. Very well; so did he.
He relaxed, accepting the churning power of his sexual hunger, but he did not move toward Joanna. Instead he simply allowed himself to watch. And appreciate.
She tried once more. Apparently her shudder had relaxed her muscles enough that the small ball had again slipped free. So she was experimenting, obviously becoming more comfortable with the act of pressing the ball within her.
Again a shudder racked her body. This time the ball did not slip free. This time she was able to straighten, her legs still spread.
Zou Tun began to count heartbeats. His own heart was pumping hard, as hers was likely to be. Their counts would match closely enough.
Fifty beats.
One hundred beats.
Two hundred beats.
Her shoulders were beginning to relax. He could see her confidence growing.
Three hundred beats.
She shifted slightly, readjusting her feet. And with that movement she turned toward him. He could see her standing there, legs spread, with the other ball trembling where it hung between her thighs.
Lust slammed through him hard enough to stop his breath. He had never seen a more erotic sight. And yet he did not act. He felt the hunger surge in his blood; he even allowed thoughts and images of hot and sweaty love to flow through his mind. But he kept his body still. He did not allow the images to consume him.
His lust remained fierce, but it was not the whole of his thoughts, the complete dominance of his being. It was merely a part of him that he would control.
Five hundred beats.
Joanna was beginning to strain. He heard her breath—small panting gasps that added fuel to his dragon fire. Another shudder shook her body—a smaller one, but a tremble nonetheless. And just as before, her breasts danced with the movement.
Beautiful. She was so beautiful.
He lost himself in the perfection that was Joanna, her body and mind. He worshiped both the woman who stood before him, struggling with a new exercise, and the woman of his memory, who was as passionate about discovering his secrets as she had been to learn this new religion. She was smart and capable and had a smile that burned like a warm coal inside his frozen chest.
Seven hundred beats.
She would not be able to hold it much longer. He could tell that the larger ball was slipping lower, threatening to pull the smaller one out It bobbed there as she fought the weight, drawing it higher with her muscles... only to have them fail. The balls slipped free, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.
Seven hundred and eighty-six beats.
Zou Tun was impressed and pleased. She was nearly ready, even though she had no experience with these things. Truly, she was an amazing woman.
He heard her cleaning her hands and the balls, refreshing herself with a towel before stepping out from behind the screen. He knew she was moving from a bright place to a dark one, so she would not be able to see that his eyes were open. But he had no wish to lie to her, even in so little a thing as to pretend he hadn't seen. So he spoke, his voice slightly grating.
"You are very strong."
She froze. He thought for a moment that she would deny it. She simply shrugged.
"Horseback riding," she said, her tone low but pure. Her throat must be feeling better.
"Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Some of the muscles must be similar. But..." His voice trailed away.
"Some are different."
She remained standing before him, completely nude, her body a sweet temptation even in the darkness. To distract himself, he gestured to the door. "Our dinner is probably out there. Are you hungry?"
She nodded, then quickly ducked behind the screen. He watched as she slipped on a robe, then stepped to the door. As she opened it, Zou Tun
noted that the door was unlocked. It was also, from what he could see, unguarded. They were free to leave if they so chose.
He didn't move, except to don loose pants, before returning to the bed. She joined him there, setting the tray of food between them.
They ate in silence. The food was cold, the tea lukewarm, but the atmosphere remained relaxed. Soothing. And he found his dragon liked her all the more for the companionable silence.
He turned his thoughts elsewhere, wanting to learn of this woman. After all, she knew more about him right now than anyone alive.
"How long have you lived in Shanghai?" he asked, surprised that his throat was still scratchy even after drinking the tea.
"Ten years," she answered. "We came from Boston. In the United States."
He nodded, pleased that he knew where that was. And he found himself even more interested in what her life was like. "You must have been young when you left. Do you remember?"
She smiled, her face growing softer and even more beautiful. "I remember noise. I remember my father's anger because we were poor. I had a favorite tree that I would climb when my parents' arguments were too loud. I would hold my brother, and we would play finger games until it got too cold and my mother came looking for us." She sighed. "That's what I remember most—holding my brother when he was sleepy, and my mother finding us when it was all over."
Zou Tun frowned, unable to fathom a family of such open dissension. "In China, women do not argue with their husbands."
She glanced at him, obviously startled. Abruptly she burst into laughter. "Of course they do. I have heard them in the markets—husband and wife bickering like angry birds."
He stiffened, lifting his chin in disdain. "Any woman who does so disgraces herself and her husband! A wife's first duty is to maintain harmony within the home. She cannot do that if she cannot hold her tongue."
"No disagreeing with a husband?" Again humor laced her tone. "Let me give you a suggestion, monk. If you wish for such harmony in your home, do not marry a woman who knows her own mind." She grinned at him. "But I wish you luck in finding one."
"You," he snapped, "would not be a peaceful wife."
She did not take his insult, but merely shook her head, her smile still warm. "No, I most certainly would not."
"Your husband would be constantly fighting off bandits, nursing your horses, and searching the woods for wherever your whim took you next."
Her smile died, the light in her eyes fading equally quickly. When she spoke, it was softly and with an edge of hurt. "Tell me that you have never taken the wrong path, never made a bad choice."
He opened his mouth to defend himself, to say that he had never done anything as stupid as leaving his home unprotected to seek out bandit revolutionaries. But the words died on his tongue. Because, of course, what he had done was much, much worse. And so he looked at his hands, feeling the weight of guilt pulling at his shoulders.
"I am being churlish, striking out at you when it is my own shame that consumes me. I apologize, Joanna Crane. I have treated you most unfairly."
She watched him, her food forgotten in her lap. Then she spoke, her voice hesitant, as if she were unsure. "I had a dream about you, Zou Tun. A frightening dream that I cannot seem to dismiss."
He shifted uncomfortably, anxiety tightening his belly. His countrymen put great store in dreams, but he had always found them to be unreliable, their content usually self-serving. And yet he could not deny a whisper of cold fear that blew through his soul.
"I saw you in my dream and your qi was leaking out of you." She frowned. "No, it was worse than that. It was pouring from you, and if you did not stop the loss immediately, you would soon die."
He frowned, trying to understand the purpose behind her words. "Someone was taking my qi?" he asked, wondering what enemy she wanted him to fight.
Again she shook her head. "No. There was no enemy. Just you. It was something about you that was... unplugged. Like a wound that wouldn't close. Only, instead of blood you were losing energy. Power."
"That is an ugly dream," he said, annoyed by her obvious ploy. Truly, she must think him a half-wit to fall for Such a thing. But she was the one who'd been caught. Her next words would tell him exactly what she wanted. He leaned back, doing his best to sound sincere. "I do not wish to die. What must I do to end this loss?"
She sighed. "I do not know. I have only just learned that people can have such things as energy. Yin and yang as parts of a larger force called qi? These things are strange to Westerners." She raised her eyes to his. "I assumed you would know the meaning. Isn't there any folklore or something, stories about how to stop qi from draining away?"
He frowned. He was well versed in all the classics. He knew nothing of such stories. Worse, he could not determine Joanna's purpose in telling him this dream. Why would she say such a thing without having an idea how to effect change?
"I do not know of anything like that," he finally said. Was she being coy? Would she tell him now what she wanted?
Apparently not. She shrugged, dismissing her story. "It was only a dream. I am sorry I brought it up."
He stared at her. What drove this strange woman? "Why do you hate us Manchurians?" he asked.
She reared back, shock on her face. "I don't hate you. Why would you say that?"
"Why would you risk your life to join the Fists if you do not hate us?"
"We have already discussed this. You know of the abuses of your government."
He leaned forward, pressing his point. "Yes, I do. Better than you." He reached out, taking her hand as he tried to divine the truth. "But you are not Chinese. You have not been oppressed by the Qin Empire. Why would you risk everything to fight for peasants?"
She pushed off the bed, clearly agitated. He could see how the fire in her soul tormented her, pushing her to do things she did not think through. Her movements were tight, her voice high and angry. And her words made no sense.
"Have you never thought of righting injustice? Of fighting for freedom no matter what the cost? Liberty is not just a thing of the body. It is a thing of the soul. Who will fight for the shackled souls if not those who are already free?"
She was slipping into English, her words incomprehensible to him. But he had heard enough to recognize passion that meant little in any practical sense. So he waited until her blustering had finished. When she finally stopped speaking, when she turned to him like a toy that had stopped spinning, that was when he spoke.
"We do not shackle any person. And if there are shortages, privations, and poverty, it is because of reparations demanded by you Western barbarians."
"You killed our missionaries!" she shot back.
"We did not wish for them to come here. You forced us to accept them into our country. We cannot help it if the peasants do not want them here, preaching their foreign God."
She rounded on him, her mouth open, her jaw beginning to work. But no sound came out. And if words were coming, he stopped them, raising his hand with the weariness that seemed to perpetually fill him.
"I will not debate this with you, Joanna Crane."
"Why? Because I am a woman? Because you know I am right?"
He shook his head. "Because I do not understand these issues. I never have."
She reared back, obviously stunned. Indeed, he was startled as well. But once started, he could not stop himself from explaining further.
"I am merely speaking what I have been taught. You are as well. Neither of us understands the situation well enough to know true answers."
She dropped her hands to her hips, standing before him like a vengeful spirit. "Do you doubt what you have seen? Do you think that beggar lied about what happened to him?"
Zou Tun shook his head. "No, I do not think he lied." He raised his gaze, pinning her with the force of his beliefs. "But I also know that the system of eunuchs has been in place for thousands of years, long before my people conquered this country two hundred years ago. I know that China is a land long o
n tradition, and no change comes about easily." Then he pushed off the bed, coming to stand directly before her. "And I also know that Empress Cixi fervently wishes these things to change. She and her supporters all want to make China better for even the smallest peasant."
Joanna frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "The dowager empress cares only about feeding herself. About her jade boat and her jewels."
It was a good thing that he heard uncertainty in her voice; there was a time when he would have killed anyone who dared utter such a thing. But he was older now, wiser in the understanding that nothing in politics was as clear or simple as one might wish.
"You are merely echoing what you have been told. But I have met the dowager empress. I have spoken with her, and I tell you what you think is not true: She is a great lady with great dreams for China."
He watched her eyes widen with awe. "You have met with the empress?" she breathed.
He didn't answer directly, choosing his words with care so that she understood. "I am a man, not a eunuch," he said firmly. "And no man is allowed within the women's quarters of the Forbidden City, certainly not to speak with a lowly concubine. Such a thing would be treasonous. Punishable by death."
She leaned back, rolling her eyes at the intricacy of Chinese politics. "She is running the country, Zou Tun. To not see her... How can you support such a system?"
Again he spoke without heat or passion, trying to make her understand. "A woman could not possibly lead a country, Joanna Crane. The emperor is the Son of Heaven. He has been in power for nearly a decade."
"But—"
"But, but, but, but, but! You do not understand our country, Joanna! You foreigners know nothing of our ways, and yet you demand reparations and send more missionaries. And you, Joanna Crane—a barbarian woman—seek to join those who fight against us? Why? Why would you risk your life when you do not even understand the simplest things in our government or our traditions?"
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 49
